


If You Leave

by Tehri



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Love/Hate, M/M, Neighbours, bagginshield, eventually that is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-25 01:33:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4941586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tehri/pseuds/Tehri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had lived next door to each other for six years. The first year, they didn't notice each other much. The next five, they spent hating each other's guts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Leave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aurasama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurasama/gifts).



They had lived next door to each other for nearly six years. For the first year, they hadn’t even spoken to each other; it didn’t seem necessary, and to be quite fair it probably wasn’t. They had different working hours, and they didn’t move in the same circles. It was during the second year that they first properly became aware of each other.

Thorin’s cousin and best friend, Dwalin, had somehow become romantically entangled with Bilbo’s best friend and schoolmate, Ori. This inevitably led to Bilbo’s and Thorin’s first meeting, where they immediately decided that they didn’t like each other.

Ori and Dwalin seemed to find it hilarious to compare the differences between them. Bilbo was decidedly old-fashioned, very short and a bit chubby, a bit snarky despite nearly always being seen with a smile, loved everything classical, and loved to cook. Thorin was very much a modern person, very tall and fairly muscular, looked like he both could and would kill the next person who so much as touched him, never strayed further down the age of fashion than around the nineties, and could probably burn water if he tried to boil an egg.

It was precisely these differences that made the two despise each other. And once they actually realised that they were neighbours, the feud was a fact.  
Thorin was an early riser. Always had been, and always would be. Though he could sleep like the dead, and sometimes snored loud enough to wake said dead, he would without fail wake up at half past five in the morning (or half past six during weekends), jump out of bed and get ready to go for a morning run.   
Around that time, Bilbo would still be asleep. He followed the rather proud “tradition” set by his family to not be a morning person, and now that he was working from home he was rarely out of bed before ten or eleven in the morning. Once he actually did roll out of his blanketnest, it was to drag himself downstairs to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea, and not to go outside.

  
It took Thorin barely a month to realise this part of Bilbo’s schedule and become a major pain in his neighbour’s life. Every morning as he left his house to go for his morning run, he would pick up some gravel from his driveway and launch an attack on Bilbo’s bedroom window, simply to see if he could wake the poor man up. The first few times yielded no results, but around the tenth morning Bilbo’s hand would appear in the window to make some rude gestures at the person disturbing his sleep. Around the twentieth morning, Bilbo would simply roll out of bed, open the window, and shout obscenities at his neighbour.

Bilbo loved to take care of his garden. It was immaculate, like a piece of art, and he was very proud of it. All the flowers were perfect every year, the hedge was trimmed; nothing seemed out of place. Thorin, on the other hand, barely made the token effort of mowing the lawn every now and then when it started to look a bit too horrible. He had no other plants than grass to look after, and didn’t care to have any either. Then Bilbo started to dump grass-clippings and pulled up weeds in Thorin’s yard, facing whatever tirade Thorin threw at him with a bright smile while stating that he was simply helping Thorin create a compost, since that seemed to be the aim of the yard.

The list of their “trespasses” against each other went on. Some things were childish pranks, and others were of a more serious nature; for instance, cars had been keyed and tires occasionally slashed, though neither of them would admit to it. Though in all fairness, Thorin was the one slashing the tires. Bilbo simply wielded a hammer and strategically placed nails.

It came to the point where these occasions became part of their daily routines. They learned each other’s’ schedules and were able to tell when the other diverted from them. When Thorin went on a businesstrip, Bilbo had told himself that he would simply enjoy the peace and quiet and work on his next novel. Instead he found himself waking up far too early in the morning and wondering why the gravel against the window never came. And likewise, when Bilbo went to visit his family, Thorin told himself “good riddance” and decided that he might as well try to work from home for a while. Instead he was anxiously awaiting different awkward items ordered in his name to be delivered to his door, and for more grass-clippings to be dumped in the yard.

 

Bilbo, who as a writer worked mainly from home, had a little more time to analyse his opponent’s behaviour. Ori had at one point called him ridiculous for this.

“Thorin is actually nice, once you get past the murderous glares,” he had said in an attempt to convince his friend to bury the war-axe. “He’s probably only acting this way because you keep riling him up.”

“If that caveman is capable of being nice, I’ll start eating flowers,” Bilbo had snorted in response. “I’ve never seen such a brute in my entire life! He makes Dwalin seem like a tame little puppy!”

Ori had given up sometime after that attempt and simply allowed the two to argue to their heart’s content. Dwalin had simply patted his shoulder and said that it was better that way.

“They’re both stubborn idiots,” he’d grumbled. “Let them get it out of their system. Might take a couple of years, but it’ll calm down eventually.”

He was right – things did calm down eventually, though not because they got everything out of their system.

Bilbo noticed soon enough that Thorin’s little “pranks” became more sparse, and that he stopped completely with the more serious ones. If they encountered each other outside, the dark-haired man would avoid Bilbo’s eyes and wouldn’t rise to take the obvious baits placed out to start an argument. He seemed to go out of his way to simply not acknowledge that Bilbo disliked him.

Which, in all honesty, made Bilbo quite confused. At that point, five years had passed, and they had already gotten comfortable with their new daily routines. To have Thorin disrupt them by keeping his distance felt strange. To not see his neighbour as often once Thorin started working late as often as possible felt stranger. In a small corner of his mind, Bilbo admitted to himself that it made him feel unhappy, not to mention lonely. Perhaps it was a stupid thing to be unhappy about, especially since he didn’t like the person. But the feeling was there all the same, and it kept getting worse as Thorin slowly but surely dropped out of his life.

It got to the point where Bilbo one afternoon found himself sulking in his little study, writing a very sulky note that he never truly intended to show to anyone.

_Dear idiot,_

_You’ve stopped throwing gravel at my windows at ungodly hours. That’s wonderful. I suppose I ought to thank you for letting me sleep for once in my life, and for not being such a piece of shit. Also, thank you for not ordering pornographic material in my name anymore. I still don’t know what to do with the stupid box of… things that you had delivered to me. And stop smirking, I know you are, I’m not using those things, and you’re a moron. Thank you for ignoring me last time we even met elsewhere. Ori was uncomfortable and thought that we were plotting to murder each other. I don’t think I’ve glared that much at you since we met. Thank you for not talking to me. Thank you for not acknowledging my existence. Thank you for pretending that I’m just another normal neighbour who you haven’t spent the past five years hating._

_Stop ignoring me, you stupid idiot. I miss the gravel on the windowsill._

He stared at what he had written for quite some time before he, for reasons he could barely comprehend, folded the note and slipped it into the top drawer of his desk. “Just venting,” he grumbled to himself. “That’s all. Da always said that it could help to write things down sometimes, that’s the only reason for this.” At least he hoped so.

 

It was perhaps three months after that incident that all hell suddenly broke loose. Bilbo had been in his kitchen making a cup of tea when he suddenly heard the sound of screeching tires in the street, followed by a loud crash. He stood completely frozen for a while, wondering what had happened, before he even decided to go and have a look. Once he opened the front door, he froze again.

A car had crashed straight into the low stone wall outside of his house; the entire front had been crushed and looked like it had attempted to fold itself in half. Bilbo knew that car, a previously very sleek and well cared for black Audi. It was Thorin’s.

Without thinking straight, Bilbo fished his cell phone out of his pocket as he hurried towards the wreck. Once he came around to the side, he could see Thorin inside the car, hunched over and with his eyes closed and his mouth open; there was no doubt that the man was unconscious.

“Airbag didn’t go off,” Bilbo mumbled to himself as he tried to both call for help as well as pry the door open. “Not good. Definitely not good. Thorin? Thorin, can you- Oh god, you’re bleeding, that’s, that’s really not good. You’re not moving, you probably can’t hear me, this isn’t… I’m, I’m calling for an ambulance, just hang on, and don’t…”

The words _don’t die_ wouldn’t come out even though his mouth formed them.

The emergency call went faster than he had thought – the operator remained on the phone with him and tried to guide him through the process of prying the door open as well as moving Thorin enough to check for a pulse without hurting him. It was during that time, when Bilbo had his fingers pressed against Thorin’s neck to find the slightest hint of a pulse, that Thorin’s eyes opened.

“H’lo,” he slurred, giving Bilbo a weak and bleary smile. “Why’re you here?”

“Stop talking,” Bilbo snapped immediately. “And don’t move! No, hold still, Thorin, you’re hurt, you managed to crash the car somehow… An ambulance is on its way, alright? Just… Don’t do anything stupid.”

“You know,” Thorin continued, as though Bilbo had never spoken. “You know what I really like about you? Your smile. You have a really beautiful smile. And, and your hair. It looks like gold when the light hits it just right, do you know that?” At this point, Bilbo was staring at him, phone and operator completely forgotten, and Thorin rambled on. “You look like you’ve got a halo. You’re gorgeous, and you don’t even realise it.”

He lifted his hand, though he winced as he did so, and touched Bilbo’s cheek.

“Would you do me a favour? Just a small one?”

“I can do you a favour once you’re out of the hospital,” Bilbo answered frantically, trying to make him lower his hand again. “Now hold still, Thorin!”

“I want to see you smile,” Thorin said, his voice breaking slightly. A small trickle of blood came from the corner of his mouth as he spoke. “Would you smile for me, Bilbo? Just once? Just in case…?”

With his mind running at a hundred miles per minute, Bilbo forced himself to smile.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “You’ll be fine. Don’t talk like that. The ambulance is on its way, and you’re going to be fine.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” Thorin mumbled as his eyes slowly slid shut. “Everything hurts…”

Bilbo swore.

“No, no, don’t do that,” he pleaded. “Don’t close your eyes, don’t pass out now! Thorin! I swear to god, if you leave now, I’m going to wreck your garden! Thorin, wake up!”

It felt like an eternity before the ambulance arrived.

 

Bilbo hadn’t felt so numb in his entire life as when he sat by the hospital bed and waited for his neighbour (his _stupid idiotic dumbass of a neighbour_ ) to wake up. There had been plenty of internal damage, as well as several cracked bones, and Thorin had been in surgery for quite a while. Now he simply laid there, unmoving, and breathed as best he could with two broken ribs.

Bilbo was used to hospitals. He’d been in and out of them as a child, sometimes for illness and sometimes for injuries; it was a marvel that his parents were still comfortable with the thought of hospitals at all, especially after the Incident at Bilbo’s twenty-first birthday (which had involved far too many drinks and one trip to the hospital for stomach-pumping and one very frantic phone call made by his cousin Adalgrim to explain to poor old Bungo and Belladonna why their son wouldn’t be coming home that evening). But sitting there in that white hospital room, staring at Thorin in that bed, Bilbo had never hated hospitals more in his life.

He felt anxious and restless. What if something had gone wrong? What if Thorin wouldn’t wake up? What if there were complications? The nurse who had checked in a while earlier had told him that Thorin’s family were on their way, and that she could explain to them what had happened if he didn’t feel up to it and wanted to go home. Bilbo, remembering how harried his parents had been that time they came to the hospital after the Incident, had insisted on staying to explain it to them himself.

“It was outside of my house, and I called for an ambulance,” he told the nurse. “Perhaps they’d appreciate hearing it from the person who actually found him.”

There he sat now, waiting for doomsday. Or whatever was to expect. All Bilbo knew about Thorin’s closest family, heard from Ori and Dwalin, was that his younger sister Dís was a formidable woman who probably ate weaker men for breakfast and killed men stronger than Thorin for dinner. She was not to be trifled with, and Thorin himself feared her when her ire was aimed at him. Then there were the nephews, little Fili and Kili, who were according to Dwalin “massive pains in the arse”. They were seven and six years old, and they adored their uncle and swore by what he told them. There was a younger brother as well, Frerin, who lived abroad; Bilbo assumed that no one at the hospital had his contact information and that Dís would contact him as soon as she could.

While he sat there pondering, he noticed a small movement out of the corner of his eye. Thorin had turned his head, and his eyes were slowly opening.

“Fuck,” was the first heartfelt word that came out of the injured man’s mouth. “Oh, fuck…”

“Hello to you too,” Bilbo said quietly, struggling to keep his voice even. “Finally waking up, are you?”

“Was I hit by a truck?” Thorin asked weakly. “It feels like it.”

“No, you just hit a stone wall, you arse.” Bilbo couldn’t help but smile, more out of relief than anything. “The one outside my house. Totalled your car and got yourself tossed into surgery. Brilliant way to end the day and ensure that I would spend the next night sleepless, you prick.”

“Why are you here?” Thorin gave Bilbo a long suspicious look. “Not really up for any pranks right now, Baggins…”

“Shut up and go back to sleep,” Bilbo answered. “I found you and I called for an ambulance, and I came in with you. You’ve been in surgery, and you need to rest. Your family are on their way, okay? Just go to sleep, and try to rest enough to talk to them when they’re here.”

They sat in silence for a while, staring at each other. Finally it seemed that Thorin decided that he was too tired to argue, and he huffed, closed his eyes and seemed to slip back into blissful unconsciousness immediately. Bilbo simply smiled and rose from his seat. Perhaps it was best if he met Thorin’s family outside of the room, so that the poor man wouldn’t wake up.

 

Bilbo had never really expected that he would actually at some point in his life wait anxiously for his neighbour to come home. But after that visit to the hospital, he found himself getting out of bed a little earlier, hurrying over to the window to see if there was movement in the other house or outside it. The relatives hadn’t shown up at the hospital while Bilbo was there; the nurse had come a while after he left the room to tell him that they had only just called back and said that they were stuck in traffic. At that point, Bilbo felt too drained to stay and had taken the decision to head back home.

It was about a week later that there came a knock on Bilbo’s door in the evening. What he didn’t expect when he opened the door was to see a tall dark-haired woman standing there with two small boys holding her hands, one with dark brown hair and the other with bright golden hair. Bilbo eyed them all in confusion.

“How may I help you?” he asked, trying to break the ice a little bit.

“You are Bilbo Baggins, correct?” the woman asked. Bilbo nodded, and a mere fraction of a second later he was wrapped tight in the woman’s arms. “Oh, thank god! Thorin said that it was a neighbour who helped him, but he hasn’t been very forthcoming about exactly who, not until this afternoon!”

“Th-Thorin?” Bilbo gasped in response, wriggling in her hold.

“Mum, I don’t think he can breathe,” said the blonde boy, tugging at his mother’s coat. “Maybe you should let go.”

Ten minutes, three frantic apologies and one boiled kettle later, they all sat around Bilbo’s kitchen table nursing cups of tea. The boys had put copious amounts of honey in theirs, and while Bilbo vaguely mourned the loss of the last he had in the jar, he didn’t quite have the heart to deny them the sweetener.

“You said you’re Thorin’s sister,” he said to the woman sitting across the table from him. “Did he wake up when you were there that first day?”

“He did,” Dís answered, smiling slightly. “Though he was rather groggy and in pain.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” Bilbo chuckled at the thought, remembering how exhausted Thorin had been at first. “He woke up long enough for me to tell him that you were on your way, and then he went right back to sleep.”

“Yes, he said his neighbour had been there.” Dís tilted her head and gave Bilbo a smile that reminded him very much of the smile his mother would give him when she intended to meddle. “He asked for you at least six times before he accepted that you weren’t there.”

Poor Bilbo squirmed a little in his seat.

“That doesn’t sound like him,” he mumbled. “He was only suspicious of why I was there at first.”

“Yes, well. Perhaps it gave him a little bit of comfort. He talks about you quite often, actually.”

Bilbo was entirely certain that he had just imagined the last thing Dís said. Before he could ask her to repeat it, just to make sure he’d actually imagined it, she continued:

“He told me about the stupid pranks he’s been pulling on you, and how you’ve responded. He couldn’t make sense of why you were acting so hostile towards him. Really, he’s a giant five-year-old, he has no clue about how to just grow a spine and talk to someone without behaving like a boy in a playground pulling a girl’s hair.”

“Hold on,” Bilbo cried out. “What? Are you telling me that all this time, for five years, he has behaved like the worst possible piece of-“ He broke of and shook his head, trying to remind himself that there were children in the room; both of whom were staring at him with very interested expressions on their faces. “He’s been behaving this way, because he wanted to befriend me? Is that what you’re saying?”

“He’s really not very good at making friends.” Dís grinned at him. “You should have asked Dwalin. He is full of stories about things like that.”

“Mum says uncle is a manchild,” Kili supplied helpfully after taking a long sip of tea. “But uncle always gets mad then.”

“Yes, that he does,” Dís answered, gently patting Kili’s head. “Because your uncle really is a manchild.”

 

Bilbo could never know what Thorin had actually expected when he came home. Perhaps he expected everything to be as it usually was, and that he could simply go on as he had before. Or perhaps he expected his sister to be waiting there for him, swearing at him for having been careless, or perhaps even Dwalin doing the same thing. The look on the man’s face told Bilbo very clearly that he had not expected to see his neighbour standing there by the door when Dís let him out of her car.

Dís gave them both a catlike grin, told them to “have fun” and simply drove away, leaving her brother standing there leaning on his crutches with a hopelessly confused look on his face. Bilbo stood with his arms crossed, tapping his foot impatiently, and glared at Thorin.

“You are the most insufferable arse I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet,” he said firmly. “There’s never been anyone worse than you, I swear.” He strode over to the taller man and patted his arm. “Now, get your arse inside. We need to talk.”

It was the first time Bilbo had been inside Thorin’s home, and yet he moved around and seemed as comfortable as though he had lived there his entire life. Thorin hardly knew what to do when the smaller man bustled about in his kitchen, looking for a kettle and for some tea and cups. He sat there by his kitchen table, looking confused and watching his neighbour warily. Bilbo kept up a steady stream of chatter while he was making them tea, and barely even glanced at the taller man.

“Really, your sister is ridiculous,” he was saying as he finally set the tea to steep. “She came to my house. I didn’t even know you had told her who I was. Suddenly she was just there, on my doorstep, with those two little munchkins tagging along. Your nephews are adorable, by the way. Mischievous, and kind of loud, but adorable. I like them. They’re polite, when they’re reminded to be. Though I sort of see the similarity between you and your sister. A bit brash, a bit loud, taking up space… Also overgrown children.”

Finally he turned around and gave Thorin a small smile.

“Though you were very nearly pleasant when you woke up for a moment in the car,” he said. “A little strange, but pleasant.”

“I woke up?” Thorin asked, frowning slightly. “I don’t remember waking up in the car…”

“Well, you were quite out of it,” Bilbo admitted. “Rather groggy.”

“What did I say to you?”

Bilbo was silent for a while. He poured tea for them and put the cups on the table, very calmly taking his seat opposite his neighbour. Thorin looked suspicious as he waited for the smaller man to speak. Bilbo took a long sip of his tea and finally looked up.

“You said quite a lot,” he said. “But some of it was… Well… A little strange. You were out of it, and you were in a lot of pain.” He tilted his head slightly and peered searchingly at his companion. “You said… Well, you said that you liked my smile. And my hair.”

Thorin immediately winced, as if someone had just poked at his injuries. Bilbo simply raised an eyebrow at him and continued:

“You asked me to smile at you, just in case. What did you mean?”

“I’d rather not talk about that,” Thorin mumbled, staring morosely into his cup. He looked rather like a small child who had just been told that his parents knew his deepest darkest secret. “Could we just… forget it?”

“Not really,” Bilbo answered. “Because your sister told me that you spent five years acting like you hated me because you actually liked me and wanted to befriend me. But you just didn’t know how to talk to me.”

“My sister is a blabbermouth,” Thorin groaned. “A gossip. She says a lot of things. Ignore her.”

“I don’t think I will. I’d like to know the truth.”

“And I’d rather not tell you.”

“Well, then we’re at quite an impasse, aren’t we?”

“Can we just go back to what it used to be like?” Thorin gave Bilbo a look that bordered on desperate. “It was… I mean, it was a routine. Something to do. I like routines.”

“What it used to be like?” Bilbo snorted. “You mean when you woke me up at ungodly hours and ruined my car?”

“You ruined mine,” Thorin answered sulkily.

“And I was always honest about it.”

They stared at each other for a moment. Then Bilbo rolled his eyes and leant back.

“You’re ridiculous,” he sighed. “Thorin, I know what I heard you say, and I know what your sister said. What harm will it do if you tell me the truth?”

“I’d rather not ruin a possible friendship before it even starts,” Thorin muttered. “I tried to give you space because I realised that I was going about it the wrong way. Then I had to crash the fucking car, of course…”

“You spent five years acting like you hated me and making me hate you as well,” Bilbo deadpanned. “Of course you didn’t want to ruin a possible friendship.” He snorted again and suddenly grinned. “You are so backwards it hurts. An absolute idiot.”

He reached out and nudged Thorin’s hand, making the taller man look up at him.

“There,” he laughed. “I’m smiling at you, as you asked. And it’s actually because of you too. Maybe next time you should try talking to me, you idiot. I don’t want to go back to what it used to be like, routine or not. Sure, I actually missed the gravel on the windowsill for a while, but really. You are so childish.”

“Says the person who egged my house on Halloween,” Thorin shot back. But he was smiling, finally smiling, and Bilbo found himself not really wanting to look away. He did have a very nice smile. “Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“I made a smiley face because you looked so grumpy,” Bilbo grinned. “I thought you’d like it.”

“Very clever. Next time, go for Dwalin’s house, he never figures out who does it.”

“I like being alive. What about Ori’s?”

“Dwalin would kill you by default if Ori figured out it was you.”

“Your house it is, then.”

“I said no, Baggins.”

 

They had lived next door to each other for six years, and for most of that time they had utterly loathed each other. Hardly any of their (surprisingly) mutual friends had expected that they would ever learn to like each other. And still they could be found one summer day sitting together in Bilbo’s garden, drinking tea and talking.

It had taken Bilbo a while to actually start to trust Thorin, despite the jokes he had made the day the man came home from the hospital. There had been a couple of rough spots and some loud arguments, but little by little they had grown quite fond of each other. Bilbo was quite proud of the steps forward they had taken, and Thorin seemed a good deal more relaxed now that they actually made a mutual effort to communicate and befriend each other. There still were and always would be some things that they didn’t see eye to eye on, but that was just how people were.

“Are you still going to look after the boys this weekend?” Bilbo asked as he put down his now empty cup. “Dís mentioned something about that.”

“Yeah, she’s going off somewhere,” Thorin sighed. “Dumping her kids with me, as per usual. I don’t know what she expects. She knows I can’t cook.”

“They adore you for the fast food.” Bilbo smirked as Thorin rolled his eyes at him. “I’m joking. She knows you’ll probably cave the very first evening and ask me to cook. Which, by the way, I gladly would. It’d be nice to spend some time with you and the boys.”

“You spend time with me nearly every day,” Thorin pointed out. There was a somewhat triumphant look on his face as he said that. “Does that count for nothing?”

“Which reminds me, you owe me at least two bags of tea…” Bilbo grinned as the triumphant look was exchanged for something more humble and alarmed. “I’d be willing to write off that debt if you let me cook for you and the boys and let me bake something in your kitchen.”

“Why in my kitchen?” Thorin asked. “I thought you preferred yours.”

“Yes, well. Your oven is huge. Do you have any idea how many scones or muffins I could fit into that thing?”

For a long while, they sat in silence and looked at the flowers in the garden. Bilbo had as usual managed to keep them nigh to perfection. He’d even managed to convince Thorin to let him bring a few plants over to his garden.

“I’m glad that things have gone so well for us,” Thorin said suddenly, reaching out to take Bilbo’s hand. “I mean… It’s taken time, but we’re here. We managed.”

Bilbo smiled at him and nodded slowly. Holding Thorin’s hand had become something quite comfortable for him. Something that had just happened one day, and which Thorin had at first apologised profusely for – until Bilbo simply squeezed his hand and told him to shut up.

“I’ve wondered something,” he said suddenly. “About what you said that time. For me to smile at you, just in case. When did you even see me smile before that? I was always so preoccupied with you being nearby when we were out with Ori and Dwalin that I forgot to pay attention to the fun things.”

“Remember that time at the club Ori insisted on going to?” Thorin asked. “When he got so shitfaced that Dwalin had to actually carry him all the way home because he might throw up in a cab?” Bilbo nodded. “Well, Dwalin and I were late, remember? And I saw you standing with Ori by the bar, and you were talking and laughing. And you just kept smiling, and I couldn’t look away.”

“Wasn’t that when you actually dumped your drink over me?” Bilbo asked, raising an eyebrow and making Thorin blush.

“Well, yes,” the dark-haired man grumbled. “But it was an accident, I’ve told you a hundred times. I told you back then too that I didn’t mean to do that.”

Bilbo simply laughed and scooted his chair closer to Thorin’s, leant into the taller man’s side and put his head on his shoulder.

“At least my temper tantrum didn’t put you off,” he grinned. “I would’ve missed out on having company for tea.”

**Author's Note:**

> So my dear aurasama made me listen to Ayumi Hamasaki, and I got stuck on two particular songs of hers; "Heaven" and "Green". Those two inspired this fic.  
> It's hastily written, and I wasn't thinking much about plot. But it's written, and it's here for your consideration.


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